


A Hell of a Woman

by LittleMissO



Category: Holby City
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-07-08 13:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15931238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissO/pseuds/LittleMissO
Summary: What I think was really going on after Fletch Snr tried to flirt with SerenaWell, this is what it started as. It seems to have taken on a life of it's own! It's much more of a follow on from the flirting episode. Canon may well go out of the window!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just leaving this here in case any one fancies reading it.  
> Comments are welcome. It's my first ever fanfic though, so please be gentle with me!  
> Thank you to everyone who has read this and left comments. I'm still rather shocked that people are enjoying it. I hope it continues to please!

“You're a hell of a woman, you know that?”

Serena said nothing, just walked down the brightly lit ward to her office. The only hint of any reaction to what Fletch senior had said a momentary pause before she turned. That and the slight bounce that had appeared in her step. A strange expression flickered across her face. An odd mix of disbelief, amusement and pleasure that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Despite herself she felt the corners of her mouth begin to twitch, testing out the wryest of smiles and her eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly.

It couldn't be said that Serena wasn't used to flirting, she'd certainly had enough practice. She was a consummate flirt. It came easily to her and she welcomed the frisson of deliciousness that could form when she found herself in the presence of another expert. At her sparkling best she was a match for the anyone and more than able to give as good as she got. 

She knew that Fletch Snr had been flirting with her all day. He hadn't exactly been subtle about it. Even in the midst of her exhaustion he was nothing she couldn't handle. She'd eaten better men than him for breakfast before. It was all harmless enough, she'd certainly not encouraged him. Far from it. If he didn't already know that she was well and truly spoken for the NHS rumour mill, ever efficient, would soon fill him in. She had no interest in him in that way, but a compliment was a compliment and there had been few enough of them coming her way recently. There was no harm in enjoying it, but she certainly wasn't going to let it turn her head.

 

With slightly more spring in her step than there had been earlier in the day she stepped into her office. Craving a few minutes of peace and a chance to marshal her last reserves of energy she closed the door firmly behind her – and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She stepped closer, taken aback by what she saw. The results of long days on the ward and even longer nights with Guinevere, coupled with Bernie's continuing absence were clearly displayed in her face. A semi morbid fascination led her to scrutinise the calling cards that too much coffee, Shiraz and disturbed sleep had left her. She sighed as she realised that the make up had been less effective in making up for it than she had hoped. 

Who, she thought as she settled herself in her chair, had the bright idea of putting a mirror in the office? Bernie. It had been Bernie's idea. It had been not long after Bernie's return from the Ukraine that Serena had found her in the office proudly hanging the mirror on the hook she had just put in the wall. Serena, rather bemused had asked her what she was doing? Asked why they needed a mirror in their office? 

Bernie had prevaricated in that adorable way she did. Her cheeks tinged with a gentle pink, she had looked at Serena from under her fringe and attempted to explain. She has said something rather unconvincingly, about Co-leads of the Department not going out on the ward looking anything other than their best, not wanting to alarm the patients. That now they had a mirror they could check they looked OK before they went onto the ward. 

Serena had looked at Bernie, saw the scuffed trainers, creased and slightly bloodstained scrubs and her blonde hair pulled back messily with an elastic band that could only have come from that days post delivery. She noted the red flush creeping up from her chest and across her face, eclipsing the gentle pink, and concluded that there might be another reason. 

She thought it might be more to do with the incident the previous week. The moment that Fletch had taken Bernie quietly to one side and told her that whilst Serena's lipstick was stunning on Serena's lips, smudges of it on Bernie’s cheek was not such a good look. Not that they made a habit of being anything but professional at work, or in their office, but there had been one or two occasions when transfer of lipstick had been a real and present danger. 

 

If Bernie was here now, thought Serena, it might just be one of those moments. She missed her terribly, especially in the quiet of what had been their shared office. Sat in her chair she could all to easily picture how it had been when Bernie had sat in the matching chair opposite,; when she had sat on her desk. Her habit of sneaking glimpses at Serena through that fringe, thinking that Serena wasn't fully aware of what she was doing. She missed Bernie being there, having her back. 

Serena groaned gently. She rested her arms on the desk, laid her head heavily on top of them and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath as a fresh wave of exhaustion broke over her. She so wanted to hear Bernie's voice, more that wanted to, needed to. 

Suddenly resolute she sat up, and checked the time. 11am. She had fifteen minutes before she needed to head to theatre for her appointment with Mrs Collins and her fistula excision. It would be 1pm in Nairobi. With a bit of luck, if she called now, Bernie would be on her lunch break and they could talk. Not for long, but it would be better than nothing. It would be something. Scrabbling in her bag she found and extracted her phone from the worrying amounts of receipts, pens, tissues and other accumulated detritus that had gathered in the bottom of her bag. Triumphantly she pulled up Bernie's number and went to hit call. 

Her finger paused millimetres above the button. Dam. She had forgotten. Today was the day that Bernie was being dragged to that big meeting. The Nairobi Trauma Centre had wanted to show of their star employee, so were hosting a seminar and gala lunch in some posh hotel. Wanting to trumpet the success that had been made of the centre Bernie had not only been made to attend, she was delivering one of the keynote speeches. Serena knew that it was exactly the kind of thing that Bernie hated. Not talking about her trauma centre, she would happily talk about that to anyone who would listen. No, it was the small talk afterwards, the aimless standing around trying to make feeble conversation, the pressure to impress potential donors or investors. Making polite conversation over limp or lukewarm food was not on Bernie's list of fun things to do. It was pure purgatory for her. 

When they had been co-leads Serena had dealt with as much of that side of things as she could. She was in her element charming people and persuading them round to the right way of thinking, her way. It dawned on her that Bernie must be more nervous than Serena had realised about it. She'd not said much more to Serena on the subject than to tell her that it was happening – and to be very clear how much she would rather it wasn't. Further questions had been carefully sidestepped, or answered with a vagueness impressive even for Bernie. Why hadn't she picked up on it sooner? The tiredness must be affecting her more than she thought. 

 

A text will have to do, decides Serena, knowing there is no chance that Bernie will be able to speak to her now. Berating herself for not having remembered earlier that the gala was today, she sets about doing the best she can to support her partner.

S: Hello Darling. I know you will have knocked them dead with your speech. You're the best trauma surgeon the UK and Nairobi have to offer! I do hope that you're sat next to someone interesting for lunch, or there is at least ample Shiraz. Guinevere still has colic (third night in a row I've been up with her). Jac is still unconscious - Hanson has me rumour scorching. I've had to remove a leg prosthetic from one porters arm (don't ask, really) whilst the newest one does his best to flirt with me. I'm about to get intimately acquainted with Mrs Collins fistula in theatre and, to top off a wonderful day I have waiting time figures to compete that were due yesterday. I need serious quality time with my bed, or failing that a large coffee! I miss you! *

The text wooshes off. Resigned to the fact that she won't now hear from Bernie until she comes back from theatre she places the phone back on her desk and leaves the office, carefully avoiding looking in the mirror on her way out.

 

It was almost three o'clock by the time Serena got back to her office. The surgery had been trickier than she had hoped. Nothing that taxed Serena's considerable skills, but the repair had been slow and tedious and had taken much longer than it should have. She had changed out of her scrubs, been waylaid several times on her way through the ward with requests for opinions on this patient and her signature on that form. She was beginning to wonder if she should skip the coffee she had planed and go straight for the Shiraz. It surely wasn't possible it could make her any more tired. 

Her hand had got as far as the office door handle before a voice called out from behind her.

“Ms Campbell”

Swallowing a grimace (was it too much to ask to sit down in peace in her office for five minutes?) and guarding her final nerve carefully, she turned round. Dr Copeland was standing in front of her with a large steaming hot coffee in one hand and a bag containing a pain au chocolate in the other.

“These are for you.” He says with a grin, “I've been told to say that the coffee is strong and hot, just as you like it, and the pain au chocolate is purely medicinal”. 

Serena looks at him, puzzled, as he thrusts the contents of his hands at her.  
“That's very kind of you Dr Copeland”. She says, “But I'm afraid I don't understand. Why are you buying me coffee, and pastries/ Please don't think I'm not grateful, because I am but...”

“Oh, no, I didn't.” Dr Copeland interrupts quickly “They're not from me. I'm just the delivery boy”.

“Then who… Oh..., thank you” says Serena as the realisation dawns that there's only one person who knows about medicinal pastries. Bernie. 

Dr Copeland beams at her as he sees the flash of understanding on her face.  
“Happy to help” he says, and turns to stroll off down the corridor.

 

Sitting herself in the office Serena inhales the scent of the coffee, leans back and takes the first sips of the dark liquid, which quite frankly tastes ambrosial in her current befuddled and exhausted state. Breaking off a piece of the pastry and popping it in her mouth, she wonders just how Bernie arranged this. Did she just text Dom? How did he know when to bring the coffee to her, as it was, as promised, hot and strong? Then, as the caffeine in the coffee hits, she finds she doesn't mind how they did it, she's just grateful that they did.

It's not until the coffee is half drunk that she realises what should have been immediately obvious. Bernie must have got her text message from earlier. How else could she have known to arrange the coffee? If she'd read that text, and had time to rope in Dom as delivery boy, maybe she'd had a chance to reply to her message?

Putting down her cup rather too rapidly (grateful it is only half full) she reaches for her phone. There are two texts from Bernie. 

B: Speech went well. Can't wait till this is over  
B: Poor you! Let me see if I can help...

Serena smiles gently to herself. Bernie had never been one for unnecessary words. She was all about action. Very much all about the action. 

S: Thank you Serena replies. She goes to place the phone back on the desk, but is surprised to see the three pulsing dots flashing underneath her message meaning that Bernie is typing out a reply to her. She had expected Bernie to be tied up for a while yet. Pleased she waits for the message to arrive.

B: For what? it says.

S: The coffee and the pastry. You know me too well responds Serena, as if Bernie didn't know. 

B: You're very welcome. I'd do anything for my girl. Do you have much more to do before you can head home? 

Serena's mood, brightened by hearing from Bernie, drops markedly as she thinks about what the rest of her day holds.

S: At least two hours producing waiting time figures, and another night sharing the delights of colic with Guinevere. I miss my bed almost as much as I miss you

B: Would it help if I motivated you? What if I said that I should be finished here and settled in my room for the night in about two hours? It has WiFi. If you finish the figures, I'll Skype you. Would that help you get them done? 

 

Although they spoke often, and texted, it wasn't that common that they both had access to reliable enough WiFi to keep a Skype chat going. Well, not anywhere that they might not be disturbed. Seeing Bernie, even through a computer screen would soothe her weary soul like nothing else she could think of. 

S: It might keep me focused on the task in hand – although it's equally likely to make my mind drift off in a different direction.   
Flirting was second nature to Serena, she just wished she could see the blush that she knew would be washing over Bernie's face.

B: Focus, or no Skype! Bernie threatened. B: Looking forward to your text telling me you've wrangled the figures into order 

Taking a deep breath, Serena fortified herself with a large sip of her coffee. Pulling the waiting times file in front of her she summoned whatever energy she had left and prepared to concentrate.

 

It was almost an hour later when a knock at the door broke Serena's concentration. Looking up she saw the familiar figure of Ric Griffin. Calling out for him to come in she pushed the papers she had been working on to one side and turned her attention to her visitor.

“Good afternoon Mr Griffin. To what do I owe this pleasure?” she said, struggling to hold back the yawn that was trying to form on her lips.

“Hello Serena, I do hope that my company is not boring you already” he replied as she swiftly lost the battle with her yawn.

“I'm sorry, the joys of a great niece with colic and a distaste for sleep. What can I do for you?”

“I've been asked to give you this” he said with a rather odd smile and handed over a small piece of card. Serena took it from him and examined it carefully. When she had finished she fixed Ric with a bewildered look.

“This is a business card for a night nurse. I may be no spring chicken, but I'm quite sure I don't need nursing just yet”. She retorted, slightly more huffily that was strictly necessary.

“Read it again Serena” said Ric grinning. “It's a maternity night nurse. One of the NICU nurses does night nursing for new parents as a side line. It's her card.”

“I still don't quite get...”

“She's been booked to look after Guinevere tonight. Jason and Greta have agreed to it, and are happy for her to help. You can re acquaint yourself with your bed tonight”.

“What..? Who booked….? How did…? Why are you…?” said Serena, seeming currently unable to form anything resembling a complete sentence.

Ric's grin spread across his face until his eyes were twinkling knowingly.  
“You're an intelligent woman Serena, I'm sure you'll figure it out without too much difficulty..” An almost wink flitted across his face and he turned to leave the room. 

 

Serena turned the card over in her hand and pondered. It seemed rather a good solution to her. Guinevere would be very well looked after, Jason and Greta were happy with the idea and she would have the opportunity spend quality time with her bed. Those soft cotton sheets, supportive mattress and duck feather pillows that felt like resting your head on a cloud. The sigh of longing very nearly escaped her lips as the image of the comforts of her bed filled her mind. It may have escaped and filled the office if it hadn't been for the nagging thought at the back her mind forcing it's way through images of warm, cosy duvets. Who could have persuaded Jason and Greta to agree to this? 

Although he was so much better than he had been at handling changes, Jason's routine was still very important to him. A new born had caused more than enough disruption for Jason and Greta to be getting on with. Had Bernie organised this? She was one of the few people Jason would consider changing his routine for, and one of the very few who would realise exactly how much the role Great Aunt was costing Serena. She must have done, Serena concluded. Who else could it have been. She reached for her phone.

S: Have you been talking to Ric? He's just been to visit me she asked.

B: I might have. Came back a text almost straight away.

S: I knew I loved you for a reason. Have I told you how amazing you are recently?

B: Always happy to hear it again. 

S: Just as soon as I've finished my fantasy about a full nights sleep in my bed I'll tell you again. 

B: Far be it from me to come between you and your fantasy. I'll let the paperwork you have to finish do that. Serena could almost hear Bernie laughing out loud in her reply. 

S: Don't remind me

B: The sooner you finish, the sooner we can Skype*.

It was all the motivation Serena needed to finish wrangling the figures.

 

Serena sat back in her chair and stretched out her stiff back. She was done. All was calm on the ward. The figures were neatly corralled into the spreadsheet and had been collated and analysed to within an inch of their lives (and very nearly Serena's). They were currently spilling out of the printer ready to be sent up to Ms Tate. Checking her watch Serena saw that she'd finished minutes before the two hour's Bernie had given her. Bernie had known what setting a deadline would do to Serena's competitive spirit. She knew her far too well.

Feeling rather pleased with herself Serena sent a quick text to Bernie saying that she had beaten the figures into submission and that she was going to try Skyping her now. Deciding that she didn't really want to have this conversation on the office computer she got out her own laptop and set about logging on. She didn't want to wait any longer to see Bernie's face again.

It wasn't, therefore, surprising that the knock on the door that came just at that moment was greeted with a “come in” that was less than enthusiastic. A tall, figure came carefully and quietly through the door.

“Henrik. How nice to see you. What brings you to AAU?” said Serena in the friendliest tone she can muster.

“Good afternoon Ms Campbell. I'm glad to see that AAU is running like a well oiled machine, as ever. I'll be brief, as I am sure you have other matters requiring your attention.” He pulls an envelope out of his suit pocket and hands it to Serena. “Your leave request for tomorrow duly authorised.”

Serena takes the envelope and looks at it in confusion.  
“But I haven't asked for any annual leave.” she says.

“Nevertheless, Henrik replies, “annual leave has been requested and approved” A look Serena can't quite place passes across his face. He turns to leave and a thought pops into Serena's head. Before she can think about it she finds herself saying

“This wouldn't have anything to do with Bernie, would it?”

“Ms Wolfe is a very, persuasive, woman” Henrik replies rather enigmatically as he slips from the room as quietly as he arrived. 

Wondering how Bernie could possibly know what she needed before she did, Serena turned her attention back to the laptop. It wasn't long before the skype call was connected and Bernie's face filled the screen.

 

“Hello you” Serena said warmly as she drank in the face of her partner.

“Hi yourself” replied Bernie with the beginnings of a smile playing about her lips. “I knew those figures wouldn't stand a chance against you in determined mode, and with extra motivation, “

“Indeed not.” Serena responded smugly. “How did your lunch companions fare? No need to demonstrate any of the thirteen ways you can kill people with your bare hands I hope?

Bernie laughed, and Serena felt her breath catch in her throat. She missed that sound. Wanted nothing more at that moment to have that laugh originating here in the office and not from the laptop,

“Sadly not” replied Bernie. “It might have livened the thing up. The closest we came was me almost dying of boredom. How's your afternoon been?”

“Better than it could have been. I had some more visitors...”

“Ric and Henrik?” Bernie enquires.

“You know it was. A night to myself and whole day off. How did you know how much I needed that? How can I thank you?”

“I'm sure I can think of something” comes the reply. Serena is almost sure that she see Bernie wink as she says this. “What are you going to do with your unexpected day of leisure?” Bernie asks.

“Sleep.” says Serena, without a moment of hesitation. “and lay in bed. That's as far as I've got.”

Bernie grins, and says “That sounds like a very good plan. I may do the same.”

“Are you not working tomorrow then?” asks Serena. 

“No. I'm not. It was my condition for playing nicely at the gala lunch, they had to give me the next day off. They were quite amenable as it goes. I think that even they understood that I couldn't ask me to spend all that time travelling and get straight back to work without a chance to catch up with myself.”

“Where was the gala? I don't think you told me.” said Serena.

“No, I didn't, did I.” said Bernie quietly. “It was in Stenscombe” 

Serena felt her eyes widen in disbelief. “Stenscombe as in Stenscombe in the UK? As in just over an hour from Holby?” she exclaimed.

“Yes” said Bernie simply, her gaze fixed on Serena through the computer screen.

Serena's heart started to pound. “Can, can I see you? I want to see you. “ she blurted out.

Bernie smiles “I hoped you would.” “She says, “I want to see you too. How soon can you get away?”

“My shift officially finished an hour ago, and all the paperwork is done. I can leave now. Where are you?”

“Well,” said Bernie slowly. She reached forward to her laptop and fiddled with the camera. As the image on the screen panned out Serena could see that Bernie was sitting on a bed. She was propped up against the headboard, hugging her knees up to her chest, a cup of what looked like tea clutched in her hands. She was wearing silk pyjama’s in the same deep blue as the scrubs she had worn in the trauma unit at Holby. Her hair, obviously freshly washed was hanging damply round her face. So caught up in the vision before her it was several seconds before she noticed that the wallpaper was familiar. Her eyebrow shot up as she realised that the duvet cover was familiar too. Disbelief filled her face. Surely she couldn't be, it wasn't possible. She had to be imagining it, it was some kind of Bernie mirage built on her desire to see her again, She swallowed and said uncertainly.

“Are you where I think you are”. 

“Home” came the soft reply. “How soon can you get here” the shy smile and the hint of longing in Bernie's voice spurred Serena from delighted amazement, to euphoric action.

“I'm coming now” she almost growled. She snapped the laptop up, and caught Bernie's voice calling “You will be soon” as she closed it, their skype session coming to an abrupt end.

 

It didn't take long at all for Serena to scoop up her coat and bag, pluck the report from the printer and make it to the nurses station, where Donna and Jason were deep in conversation.  
“All of my surgeries are completed” she said as they turned to look at her, “Patients discharged and as for Ms Tate, the waiting time figures, compiled by my own fair hand” Brandishing the report aloft as tangible proof and handing it to Donna with a flourish.. “I have booked a day's annual leave” she continued. Drawing a deep breath she finished with great emphasis “Tomorrow, I sleep”. 

“You can't just spend the whole day in bed”. Said Jason. A puzzled look forming on his face.

“Oh, I can and I will!” said Serena with devilment glinting in her eyes. “You see I'm a hell of a woman Jason, and I intend to keep it that way” Delighting in the fond bemusement she saw in her nephews eyes she smiled coquettishly, turned and virtually bounced out of the ward, Donna's peals of laughter following after.

Whist she had appreciated the boost to her mood that Fletch Sn's comments earlier had given her, had reminded her of the woman she was underneath the late nights and paper work mountain, it hadn't put the spring in her step. I was knowing that her woman was at home, waiting for her, in their bed. Serena knew that Bernie was indeed a hell of a woman, and that she was all hers. Sleep was very much the last thing on her mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Serena shuts the car door briskly, pulls her house keys from her bag and strides rapidly to the front door. She fumbles slightly with the lock, whether from nerves, excitement or apprehension she's not sure. The keys slip from her fingers, bouncing off the doorstep, landing half on the path and half in the flower bed. Inhaling deeply in an attempt at steadying herself she stoops and collects them up. Not for the first time she wonders how Bernie, even the thought of Bernie, can transform her from the competent, intelligent, independent woman she is to, well, whatever the adult equivalent of a hormonal adolescent is. Mentally berating herself for her lack of composure, she tries again, and the door swings open.

Serena steps into her home and divests herself of coat and bag. The house is still and quiet. The lights are all off and she can see no signs of life. It takes her tired brain a moment to realise that Bernie must still be upstairs. Must be waiting for her upstairs. So that's where she goes. She pauses momentarily at her bedroom door before pushing it open – into the empty room. 

Panic starts to rise in Serena's stomach. Bernie had been there. She had definitely been there. Serena had seen it, Bernie had confirmed it. It had been her wall paper she had seen in the Skype conversation, her bedding, her room. Unless, she wondered, unless she had imagined it? No, surely not. She was tired, yes, but not that tired. Not tired enough to start seeing things, to blur the lines between reality and wishful thinking. No Bernie had been here. She was sure of it. 

The right question was where is she now? Had she left? Had she changed her mind? Decided that she didn't want to see Serena again? Decided that Serena was no longer what Bernie wanted? She'd done it before. Serena's mind jumped back to the day that Bernie had left her to go to the Ukraine, choosing to run rather than face what was growing between them. For a moment Serena was lost in the pain, and sheer awfulness of that day. She snapped out of it just as quickly. Bernie had come back from Kiev, had come back to Serena. Just as she had promised Serena, she had changed. She hadn't run since – in spite of Serena's best attempts to push her away. 

Bernie had stood by her side as Serena had tried and failed to process her daughters death. SHE had remained there, present, steadfast and strong, in spite of all that Serena had thrown at her in the midst of her grief. Serena flushed at the memory of some of the things she had said and done, the venom she had spewed, the wounding words she had deliberately spat at Bernie. The bitter regret at this was still a palpable presence in her. 

When Serena had been unable to stay at Holby any longer, when the presence of the past every day made the future there unbearable. When she had left, Bernie had stayed, had let her go had given Serena the space she needed. Bernie had held AAU and the Trauma Unit together, made sure that it was there for Serena to come back to, that she was there for Serena to come back to.

When she couldn't protect what they had built together anymore, when the Trauma Unit was dismantled and Bernie herself could no longer stay, she had run to Serena, not away from her. It was Serena who, after they had rediscovered each other, told Bernie that she needed to stay in the South of France longer before she was ready to return. And that she needed to stay alone. Bernie had gone to Sudan because Serena had asked her to leave, not because she wanted to run. And when Serena had told her she was ready, Bernie had come back to her willingly and without recrimination. 

It had been Serena who had left Bernie again when Holby had needed her. Bernie who had encouraged her to go, had waited whilst Serena had done what she needed to. And when Serena had not come back, when she had stayed so much longer than they had planned, it was Bernie who had come to Serena. It was Bernie who had bridged not only the physical distance in their relationship, but the gulf that seemed to be opening up between their future plans. When Serena lost faith in them, when she couldn't see how it could work between them, when love didn't seem to be enough Bernie stayed whilst Serena walked away from her. When Serena had changed her mind and couldn't let her leave, had reclaimed Bernie with kisses, hope and promises for the future, Bernie had replied with kisses of her own and promises of eternity. No. Bernie wouldn't have run. It wasn't what she did anymore. 

 

So, where was she? Serena allowed the panic she had felt to fully disperse before looking carefully round the room. The light was off, but the gentle evening sun filtered hazily through the open curtains. It gave her enough light to take in the laptop on Bernie's bedside table and her suitcase beside it. Her discarded mug of tea sat on the dresser. She was still here then. Serena looked towards the door to their en-suite bathroom. It was half open and, though the light was off, a warm gentle glow trickled out a few feet into the room. 

Serena's en suite was her en suite. No other room in her house reflected Serena or said more about her than that bathroom. It had been her present to herself, her reward if you will, after she divorced Edward and put an end to that unfortunate period of her life. And it was well deserved, after the affairs Edward had indulged himself in right under her nose and the appalling way he had behaved during the divorce. She had stood her ground, fought for what she deserved, refused to be Edwards victim. And she had succeeded. She been proud of herself and looking forward to a new start – just her and Elinor. 

The house had been the first home she and Edward had owned together, back in the days when their marriage had been shiny new and happy. As soon as they had moved in Edward had claimed the fourth bedroom as his study. Next door to their bedroom it was, as Edward pointed out, the smallest room in the house and with barely enough room for a bed. Perfect, he had said, to be his study. Somewhere he could have space of his own and peace and quiet. Serena had raised no objection at the time. Deeply in love as she was, she had wanted Edward to be happy, to have whatever he wanted. Never once thinking about why she didn't have a study or space of her own. It wasn't until later, as he started using his study to avoid being with her, or to arrange assignations with whoever at the time had been foolish enough to want to be with him that she had realised quite how much she loathed that study, what it stood for, and the man who had claimed and occupied it.

It was no surprise that one of the first things she did once her divorce came through, once she had recovered from the vat of Shiraz that she had marked the beginning of her new life with, was to clear the study of all and any signs of Edward. Then she had a door knocked through to what was now her, suitably redecorated bedroom. Whilst the room may have been too small to make an adequate bedroom, it made a very sizable en-suite.

Serena liked luxury, the finer things in life. Felt she deserved it. She had bee determined that her en-suite would contain nothing but the best. She had put considerable time and effort into sourcing the highest quality and most luxurious of everything. It had been surprisingly therapeutic, seeing herself and the start of her new life as worthy the very best. It was in stark contrast to the negligible value Edward had put on her during their marriage. The en-suite had become her place. The place she went to when she needed time and space, when she needed safety, when she needed to cosset and pamper herself. 

The en-suite had calmed her and helped her when she and Elinor had rowed, provided a safe space when it had been a heavy day at work. It was here that she had soothed her frustration, where she had raged against Edward for almost taking her career down with him and at herself for letting him back into her life. There was very little in Serena's life that time in her en-suite, her sanctuary couldn't improve, or make more bearable.

Serena's shower wasn't small. There was more than enough room to enjoy the biggest rainfall showerhead Serena had been able to find. It wasn't even really a shower, more of a mini wetroom, taking up, as it did most of the far wall of the bathroom. Not for Serena shower curtains or folding screens. Instead a thick gently frosted glass panel spanning ceiling to floor separated the shower area from the rest of the bath room, leaving a door sized gap on the left hand side. If you stepped through that door you could fully appreciate the pale white and green marble tiles lining the back wall of the room, the cool grey slate tiles under your feet, see the shelves and alcoves that could contain anything from candles and wine to a favourite shower gel. Not until you found the control panel above the marble bench right next to the heated towel rail and clothes hooks, would you have been aware of the full range of lighting options the LED's scattered on the ceiling offered, or the full range of pressure, angle and direction the shower allowed. The shower, wasn't small, far from it. There was ample room for one, or two, or three. Hell, there was even room for four if you were very friendly. Not that Serena had tested that hypothesis.

Along the wall between the shower entrance and the door to the bedroom was the tall frosted glass fronted cupboard full of Egyptian cotton towels, and overflowing with bubble baths, lotions and creams. Serena did not own a single supermarket own brand, or even the premium brands that so many places seemed to stock nowadays. Serena's “store cupboard” contained nothing but the best – Penhaligons, L'Occataine, Jo Malone. Alongside these were exclusive products from Spa’s she had visited with her Mother, and laterly, rarely, with her daughter. Serena loved the way that the smell even a small amount of bath oil, foam or milk in the bath could fill every corner of the room.

The bath. The bath was large, really large. Big enough to stretch out in, or for two to cuddle up in. Deep enough to lean back and feel the water lap over your shoulders. Freestanding it was an expanse of expensive cut stone, it's brilliant white set of by the white and green marble tiles it stood in front of. Heated towel rails stood to one side of the marble wall, whilst running along the wall itself was a shelf, wide enough to hold anything you might need (a bottle of Shiraz and a glass being what it was most commonly used for) within easy reach to anyone soaking in the tub. Nothing had been allowed to spoil the pure clean ascetic of the bath, not even the taps which stood proudly separate, a free standing unit of their own, leaning over the middle of the bath, leaving both ends free to be leant into and cocooned by.

The bathroom had never really been something she had shared, but that had been until Bernie had burst into her life and thrown all her assumptions, her normality, up into the air. Bernie wasn't the only person to have used this bathroom, but she was the only one that Serena had shared it with, had been glad to share it with, had welcomed into her sanctuary. She supposed it helped that Bernie's preference was for a shower, something to do with her inability to keep still for long, her need to be in motion. Of course, Serena knew, that there was a time and place for the speed and efficiency of a shower, of her shower, but Bernie had never really had the patience for the long relaxing soaks that were Serena's indulgence. A run and a shower was Bernie's favoured stress relief. Not that Serena was complaining. Bernie in Lycra was a sight Serena would never tire of.

Serena stepped across the room stopped in the en-suite doorway, and leant against the frame. The bathroom was warm and cosy, the steamy air was full of a fragrance that Serena could not place, but smelt amazing. The room was lit purely by three candles on the shelf by the bath tub, a bottle of what looked like a very fine Shiraz and two glasses alongside them. The bath was full, a deep layer of foam and bubbles resting on the surface. It wasn't any of this, or any of the other features of her en-suite that had caught her attention. It was the head resting on the end of the bath. The very blond head on top of the bubbles. Bernie's head was tilted back to rest on the rim of the bath tub, her hair was twisted and pinned on top of her head, although, true to form, a significant amount of hair had worked it's way loose and was hanging damply round her neck and throat. Her eyes, peeking out from beneath her fringe, were gently closed. She looked relaxed and at peace. The warmth of the bath had brought a gentle pink flush to her cheeks. Serena thought she had never seen anything so beautiful. Unwilling to disturb Bernie, she stayed where she was and quietly looked her fill. She knew that Bernie wouldn't have picked to relax in a bath, wouldn't have gone to the effort of candles, wine and sourcing a new bubble bath for herself. But she would have done it for Serena, if she thought that it was what she needed. Serena knew, without a word or look that Bernie had done this for her.

Serena wasn't sure how long she had been standing watching Bernie. It felt like it had been hours, but she knew it it could only have been minutes. She was still lost in thought when, without opening her eyes, Bernie said,

“Are you going to stand over there staring all night, or are you going to come and say hello?”

Serena was across the bathroom in moments. Her lips found Bernie's, meeting them tenderly, almost chastely. A small hum of contentment slipped from Bernie's mouth as her eyes opened and fixed on Serena's. 

Shrugging of her bright pink blouse before it got wet, Serena, in her camisole and trousers, perched herself on the edge of the bath. Bernie's hand came up to rest gently on Serena’s waist. Serena reached over, and stroked her fingers softly over Bernie's cheek and tangled them in the lose strands of the messy blonde hair that feels so soft. 

“Tell me I'm not dreaming this” Serena murmurs.

“You're not dreaming this” Bernie replies deadpan “The wine is real too” she adds with a grin.

“In that case, why is the wine on that side of the bath and I'm on the other?” asks Serena the smile she can't fully suppress spoiling her attempts at a stern face and tone.

“Well” says Bernie, her eyes twinkling with mischief, “I could pass it to you, I suppose. But that would mean I have to move, and I am very comfy exactly where I am. I'd need some kind of incentive. What would be in it for me?”

“I'm sure I could come up with something” replies Serena, her eyebrow raised.

“Promises, promises Miss Campbell” chides Bernie, with a not entirely convincing tone of petulance. “I think what we need here is a little more action, something a little more tangible...”

Bernie is cut of from whatever she was going to say next by Serena's lips meeting hers in a slow, sensual, unhurried kiss. 

Serena breaks the kiss, keeping her face inches from Bernie's she says

“Now will you pass me my wine?”

“You make an interesting argument, but I’m yet to be completely convinced” Bernie teases. 

Serena sighs, and goes to lean forward to close the small gap between them. Bernie snaps her eyes shut, preparing for Serena's lips to meet hers, and then they fly open again. Serena wasn't moving forward at all, she was moving backwards. Her hands haven't tangled themselves in Bernie's hair, theyve reached into the bathtub and gathered up a handful of bubbles. Serena' lips aren't on Bernie's, they are pursed from blowing the scented foam off her hand. And Bernie's lips, and the rest of her face, are bobbled and dotted with puffs of foam. Serena grins whilst Bernie does her best to wipe the bubbles from her face.   
“That will teach you to come between me and my Shiraz” says Serena, in a very good attempt at a stern voice. “Now hand it over you!”

Bernie turns her face fully to Serena and says slowly  
“Oh no. Any chance you had of getting your hands on the wine has completely gone after that.”

“In that case I’ll just have to reach over and get it myself”

“Oh I wouldn't do that if I were you”

“Why on earth not? A girl has to get her Shiraz somehow, and if you're not going to help...”

“You might fall in the bath”

“Why would I fall in the bath”

“I might pull you in”

“Oh, I don't think you would” Serena's eyebrow shoots up.

“Really”

“Really”

“Try me...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So thrilled that people have enjoyed chapter one.   
> Although it was originally a one shot, I've managed a second chapter. I have a third in mind, and possibly more than that. If people would be interested, then let me know and I'll see what I can do.


	3. Chapter 3

The floor of the bathroom was covered in a trail of water and bubbles leading to the frosted glass sink - which was currently holding the clothes Serena had been wearing when she had stepped into the en suite.

Bernie had made good her threat to pull Serena into the bath, immediately mollifying her outraged squeal with a deep, prolonged kiss. Serena had been fully clothed in the bath for quite long enough for everything she had been wearing to get thoroughly waterlogged.

“There are more conventional ways to get me out of my clothes Serena had noted dryly

“But it was the fastest way to get you into the bath” Bernie replied with infuriating logic.

“I'm most definitely getting out again - and out of these wet clothes!”

“Don't let me stop you” Bernie had grinned.

“You're incorrigible” Serena had muttered as she got up, stripped off, and dropped the sodden material in the sink to worry about later.

 

Serena had paused long enough to remove her make up, well aware that Bernie was watching her every move, before making a slightly more dignified re-entry into the bath. The water was warm and welcoming, and Bernie's arms felt blissful as they wrapped themselves around her. Laid back against Bernie, sipping on the Shiraz that she had finally been handed, Serena didn't think it was possible to feel any more content. All was right with the world, until her mouth, which had been half open as she attempted to stifle a yawn, was suddenly occupied by an olive.

“What was.. Where did that come from?” Serena slightly spluttered out as she tried not to choke, somewhat taken aback with the highly random nature of what had just happened.

“Oh, God. I'm sorry, I didn't mean… it wasn't supposed...” exclaimed Bernie, her cheeks blushing a deep shade of red as she took a deep breath and tried again “I just thought that after your long day you might be hungry.” She looked shyly at a small table at the side of the bath that Serena hadn't noticed. On top of it rested a platter filled with bits of crusty bread, a selection of cheeses, olives, parma ham, and grapes.

Serena turned her head to face Bernie and said

“What did I do to deserve you”

“Attempting to choke you, you mean?”

“Well apart from that.” replied Serena, reaching forward to brush her lips gently against Bernie's. “Shall we try that again, because I, for one, am famished.”

 

They didn't talk much after that, gently feeding each other from the platter. When that hunger was satisfied, feeding each other was replaced with gentle kisses, caresses, and fingertips drawing patterns on familiar skin. The weariness both women felt had begun to catch up with them. Bernie's flight had left at a very ungodly hour that morning and the surge of adrenaline that had got her through her presentation had taken more out of her that she realised. She could have done without having to find the energy to make small talk and socialise over lunch with all the donors and luminaries who had been invited to the gala on top of that. Serena was still very much suffering from long, sleepless nights with Guinevere, and not even the excitement of Bernie's surprise arrival was able to completely banish her exhaustion. All either of them wanted was to be in each others arms, to be held, and, after so long, to just to be together. 

It wasn't until the bathwater started to grow cold that Bernie realised Serena was all but asleep in her arms. So nearly asleep that she made barely noticed Bernie leaning over to collect the sponge and beginning the task of soaping and cleaning her. Bernie took much longer than was strictly necessary, even for a thorough job. There was no protest from Serena, in fact Bernie was sure that at least at one point there had been a gentle but decadent moan of appreciation. Loathed as she was to break the moment, Bernie that neither of them would benefit from sleeping in the cold bath.

“Serena” she said gently.

“Umm” came the sleepy reply.

“As nice as this is, we really do need to get out”

“I don't want to.” 

“I know. Neither do I, but the water is cold and if we don't get out now we'll be far too sore and stiff to make the most of tomorrow”.

“I hate it when you're right” 

“I'll make it up to you. Promise. Now budge up and let me out.” 

Serena, slightly grudgingly, moved forward, giving Bernie the space she needed to slip out of the tub. It was a matter of seconds for Bernie to throw on her bathrobe, grab Serena's from the heated towel rail and hold it open invitingly to her. Gathering what she could of the precious little energy she had left, Serena stepped out of the bath. Bernie stepped forward to meet her, wrapping the bathrobe round her. Tying the belt securely Bernie allowed her hands to wind fully round Serena's waist, drawing her closer until she is curved into her back. They stayed like that for a moment, making the most of simply being able to hold each other. Then Bernie dropped a gentle kiss on Serena's exposed neck, breaks the embrace and starts to step away.

“Where are you going?” asks Serena, already missing the warmth of Bernie wrapped around her.

“Bed” says Bernie as she steps towards the door. “Care to join me?”

Serena, in no need of further invitation, turns and starts to follow after Bernie. Ahead of her, Bernie stops in the doorway, half turns to look over her shoulder and says

“Bring the wine” and Serena does.

 

* * * * * *

 

Five minutes later Bernie and Serena are sat side by side on the bed. The last of the bottle of wine, mostly drunk in the bath, now residing in their refilled glasses. Serena smiles at Bernie, takes a large sip of her wine and asks,

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow?”

“Not really. I did like your plan though”

“My plan?” asked Serena, confused.

“Mmm.” muttered Bernie “The one that involved spending the whole day in bed.”

“I think that could be arranged” Serena manages before a yawn escapes her. Bernie looks at her partner's tired face, smiles softly and reaches over to remove her half full wine glass. Serena offers no resistance, a sign, if ever there was one, thinks Bernie, that Serena must be exhausted. Putting both glasses carefully out of the way on the bedside table Bernie gets out of bed, walks round to the other side and reaches under Serena's pillow.

“What are you doing” asks a bemused Serena.

“I'm getting your pyjamas” Bernie says triumphantly as she extracts a bundle of deep red silk from where she has been rummaging. As she lets it fall open Bernie has just time to realise that the shade is very similar to the wine they have been drinking before Serena complains.

“But I don't want to go to sleep” Her attempt at a sultry tone spoiled by another yawn escaping her.

“You're exhausted, and so am I. We both need to sleep, whether we want to or not. Besides you're going to need to be well rested if we're going to spend all day tomorrow in bed.” 

“I still hate it when you're right” Serena notes, but makes no attempt to resist when Bernie helps her on with her pyjamas. She doesn't particularly help either, insisting that Bernie do up the buttons of her top for her. They only take slightly longer than they ought to fasten. Bernie makes much quicker work of pulling on her soft dark blue cotton V neck T shirt and blue and green striped pyjama bottoms. She slides herself under the duvet and towards the already drowsy Serena, who moves towards her. They meet together in the middle of the bed and are soon tangled together in a way that would seem to preclude restful sleep, although somehow, it seems, it doesn't

 

* * * * * * 

 

Serena stretches and yawns as she begins to wake. Her eyes are still tightly shut, but she can tell it's morning. Something in the quality of the light, even through her eyelids, betrays the fact. She can already tell that she's slept well, that she's had at least some of the rest she needs. She delights in the knowledge that she's slept a whole night through. She's sure she can smell coffee, the delicious scent setting off the cravings in her brain. Of course, she knows it must be wishful thinking. She's just waking up and she's not set the coffee going yet. It takes a moment for her brain, not fully alert and lacking caffeine, to make the link between the coffee she thinks she can't possibly be smelling and the dip in the mattress and warmth in the bed next to her. Bernie. Bernie is here, in bed next to her. Bernie has woken before her and brought them up coffee she realises. She knows what Bernie will be doing now. Without moving further or opening her eyes Serena says,

“You're watching me sleep, aren't you?”

“Sort of. A bit” comes the reply. A smiles breaks over Serena's face as she turns towards her partner. Bernie is laying on her side, head propped up on her elbows, blatantly staring at the spot Serena was sleeping in moments ago, a wide grin on her face “It's not my fault you look so perfect when you're asleep” 

“Well, I'm awake now”

“So I noticed. Perhaps a proper good morning is in order?”

“I'm pretty sure I'll be impossible all day without one.” says Serena with just the right sultry tone in her voice to make it quite clear to Bernie the direction in which her mind is going, “What, exactly did you have in mind?”

A low moan escapes from Bernie's mouth and she rolls over and fixes her mouth hungrily on Serena's. Serena murmurs her contentment into Bernie's lips, wondering how long, exactly, it's been since they had been able to do this. A long time. Too long. She moves closer to Bernie. Arms find their way round waists, legs tangle together. This; being with Bernie, holding her and being held by her, her lips on hers, feels better that Serena had remembered it being – and she had remember it as being pretty spectacular. 

So, when Bernie suddenly stops kissing Serena and pulls back, Serena is momentarily confused.  
“What's that?” Bernie asks in surprise, drawing Serena's attention away from what they had been doing seconds ago to the music now filling the room “Is that..., is that Stevie Wonder ?” she questions as the words “Isn't she lovely” float on the air.

“Well it's not Dusty Springfield” Serena retorts, slightly embarrassed, as she reaches for her mobile. “It's my new ring tone for Jason. What can I say? Sleep deprivation does funny things to a woman. I'm sorry, I have to get this.” she says with more than a hint of reluctance in her voice.

“Of course” says Bernie, trying not to laugh. “just don't mention I'm here. I haven't got nearly long enough here and I want you all to myself.”

Sitting back against the pillows Serena answers the phone, putting it on loudspeaker so that Bernie can hear what's being said.

“Hello Jason” she says with as much enthusiasm as she can muster. “Everything OK”

“Hello Auntie Serena. Everything here is OK. Greta said I should call you.”

“Oh.”

“She says that I shouldn't have asked you to come round last night, and that I should apologise. So I apologise”.

“That's very kind of you. It's fine though. You know I'm here to help if I can.”

“I know, but Greta says that you're getting old and we need to make sure you don't do too much.”

“That's very considerate of you. I will certainly let you know if I think I'm doing to much” Serena finally manages. Bernie shakes next to her with the effort of holding back her laughter, and earns herself a raised eyebrow in response, which goes a considerable way towards quieting her mirth.

“You were acting very strangely yesterday” notes Jason.

“Was I?”

“Yes. You were not acting very much like Auntie Serena. I was becoming concerned that something might be wrong.”

“There's no need to worry Jason. I promise I'm fine. I was tired, that's all. Nothing that a good sleep won't cure. “

“Did you sleep well last night?”

“Better than I have in a long time” Serena replied trying to avoid looking at the smirk on Bernie's face.”

“An are you still planning on spending the whole day in bed?”

“That is very much still my plan” Serena clarifies, as Bernie's smirk grows larger.

“I'm still no sure that staying in bed all day is very healthy. It will interfere your sleep patterns. Studies show that...”

“I think,” Serena interrupts, “that, as a one off, it will be perfectly fine. Talking of sleep patterns, how did my lovely Grand Niece sleep last night?”

“I was right.” Jason says proudly.

“About what?” Serena asks, slightly lost”

“What I said yesterday - that tonight might be the night that Guinevere slept through. She was very hungry when she woke though. Is that normal?”

“Perfectly normal Jason. But do remember that she might still wake up some nights.”

“I will be prepared for that. I now I have to go as it's time for her walk.”

“Well you have a lovely time, and give her a big kiss from her Auntie Serena”.

“Ok. Bye” says Jason and he is gone. 

Serena groans.   
“Three nights.” she says, “Three nights on the trot I spent with her. Three nights trying to get her to sleep, or back to sleep. Rocking her, singing to her soothing her. I was totally exhausted. And the first night I'm not there she sleeps through!” There's enough indignation in Serena's voice to make Bernie laugh out loud, earning a look from Serena that would freeze the bones of any F1.   
Deciding that actions may speak louder than words at this point, Bernie leans over to Serena, takes the mobile from her hands and pointedly turns it off. She is however, brave enough to suggest to Serena that she can think of better ways to exhaust her.

* * * * * *

It's not until very much later in the morning that Serena and Bernie emerge from the bedroom in search of sustenance. In truth it's closer to lunch than breakfast, but as a forage in the kitchen fails to turn up many options (Not really had the time or energy for braving the supermarket, Serena explains) they decide on tea, toast and marmalade. Wrapped in warm dressing gowns they settle down to eat in the living room curled up on the sofa. They make short work of the toast and sit for a while sipping their tea in companionable silence. 

It's Bernie who breaks the mood. Putting down her mug she shifts on the sofa so she is facing Serena.

“We, um, we need to talk.” she says nervously. She's aware that they've been avoiding talking about anything of consequence since she got back.

“We do?” asks Serena, knowing that reality is about to burst into the happy little bubble they have been living in for the last few hours. And she would really rather it didn't. “What about?”

“Us” says Bernie quietly.

“Us?” Serena echos's. She sees that Bernie is no longer meeting her eyes, and thinks that she might not like what Bernie is going to say.

“You remember the last time I came to Holby to see you?” Bernie asks.

“Very fondly.” Serena tries a last ditch attempt to stop this, whatever it is, from happening. 

“We agreed..., well you asked…, we said that I'd wait for you...”

“For eternity, I think you said.” Serena says, fearing that she knows what might be coming. Bernie takes a deep breath and looks at Serena from behind her fringe,

“I can't do it. I can't wait any more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be another chapter, for those of you who want to know where this is going....


	4. Chapter 4

So, there it was. What Serena had been dreading. Bernie is giving up on them. She hears Bernie say 'I can't wait any more' and then hears nothing else. Bernie is still talking. Serena is aware of Bernie's lips moving, of there being noise, speech even, filling the gap between them. She has no idea what the words being spoken might be. It feels like her brain has come to a juddering halt, overloaded with trying to process the implications of those five small words.

Somewhere in the back of her mind a nagging voice is suggesting that it had only been a matter of time until this happened. Serena had been foolish to think otherwise, the voice continued. Romantic though it might be, waiting for eternity was hardly practical, or fair. Especially when she had only been able to give Bernie the vaguest of ideas about the length of that particular eternity.

Serena didn't know how long she sat there not hearing what Bernie was saying. She could feel silent tears begin to fall from her closed eyes. Bernie was leaving her. The words were screaming through her body; making her feel clammy and cold and numb. They blocked everything out from her frozen brain.

As the shock of what has happened loosens it's grip on her she becomes aware that her hands, clasped tight in her lap, are being gently held and Bernie is calling her name. Serena opens her eyes and sees that Bernie is kneeling in front of her, a look of confusion and worry on her face.

“Serena”, she almost whispers in a tone that is so full of care and concern that Serena's heart begins to fill. And she finds she can't do this any more, can't stay sitting here. Abruptly she stands and declares

“More tea needed I believe” and heads rapidly to the kitchen. The British remedy for almost anything, a cup of tea, she thinks as she fills the kettle and switches it on. She's getting the mugs out of the cupboard when Bernie comes up behind her, reaches round her and removes the mugs from her hands. Placing them on the counter, she turns Serena gently round to face her. Her hand comes up to cup Serena's cheek, the pad of her thumb gently wiping away the tear drop still clinging there. It takes all that Serena has to not lean into the intimate gesture. Instead she looks into Bernie's eyes and sees a mix of pain, sorrow and confusion. It is Bernie who breaks the silence that has enfolded them.

“I'm sorry,” she says, her eyes meeting Serena's “I though that you'd be pleased. I thought this was what you wanted, I didn't mean to ….well….” her voice trails off. In what world, wonders Serena in what world exactly, could Bernie possibly think that she didn't want her any more?

“Well it's not what I want” Serena snaps, and sees pain and disappointment in Bernie's face. “Of course I don't want you to leave me. I still want...” whatever else Serena was going to say was cut off by a gasp from Bernie and a flood of speech.

“Oh God, No Serena, no! I didn't meant…, I wasn't trying to….., I should have…,” Bernie pauses for breath, gathers her thoughts enough to finish a sentence, and continues. “How much of what I said in the living room did you actually hear?” 

“I heard you say that you didn't want to wait any more. Didn't seem much point in listening after that”. Serena offers, unsure where this discussion is going, and positively baffled when a look of relief sweeps over Bernie's face.

“I'm so sorry, I've made a mess of this. Will you let me explain?” Serena mutely nods her ascent, having given up on trying to make any sense of what was going on. “When I said I couldn't wait any more, I didn't mean that I was going to leave you. I meant that I was going to leave Nairobi and come home.”

“Home?” asks Serena

“Home.” Bernie repeats “To Holby. To you, if you'll have me?”

And Serena can't reply to that because her lips are far too busy kissing Bernie. And Bernie can't say anything more because her lips are otherwise engaged kissing Serena back.

 

It's Bernie who breaks the kiss first. Not so much because she wants to, much more because she really, really needs to breath. It's Serena though, who speaks first.

“Is this, us, what you really want?” she asks cautiously, still not quite able to believe this is happening.

“Always.” says Bernie looking straight into Serena's eyes. 

“But, the Trauma Centre, I can't ask you to give you to give that up. You've put so much into it!” says Serena with a hint of panic as she realises what a sacrifice Bernie would be making by returning to her.

“You didn't. I wanted to. I chose to. I chose you.” Bernie says confidently, and, slightly less so, adds “I wouldn't exactly be giving Nairobi up completely.”

“Right...” says Serena, rather warily, really not sure what Bernie is getting at, but keen not to jump any more rash conclusions. “How exactly is that...” Serena tales off and Bernie takes in the confused expression on her partners face. And shuts her eyes momentarily. 

“How about I finish making that tea and I'll try and make a better fist of explaining whilst we drink it?” she suggests, and Serena, knowing that Bernie needs time to gather her thoughts says, smiling gently.

“I think that would be a very good idea.” She rests her hand on Bernie's arm, squeezes it softly and walks past her to the living room to settle back on the sofa.

It doesn't take Bernie long to join her. Handing one of the mugs to Serena Bernie sits down next to her. Both women sip at their scalding teas, gathering their thoughts in the quiet. Finally Bernie puts down her mug, turns herself so she is looking Serena directly in the face, and begins to speak.

“I thought that I could do this long distance relationship thing. When I got back to Nairobi after my surprise visit, life was so busy. There was so much to do to get the centre ready for it's opening. I was putting in so many hours I barely had time to do anything other than work and sleep. It wasn't that I didn't miss you, because I did, I really did, but there was so much going on I didn't have time to realise quite how much. The time we'd had together, that 48 hours of just us, kept me going. And I had your texts, emails and phone calls. I really thought it was going to be OK, that it would work. Then you came visit, and it was wonderful having you there, with me, to see the Centre opening. It was all I wanted, what I'd been waiting for for so long – you with me in Nairobi. But then you had to go, and it felt like you were going before you'd really got there, and there'd been no time. We'd had no time to be together, no time for us. And it was my fault for being so busy. Something felt wrong, It was all I'd wanted, and it wasn't what I'd hoped it would be. Something was off and I couldn't put my finger on what it was. And it was eating me up.” 

Serena had been listening intently to Bernie talk, sitting still and focused, knowing how hard it would have been for Bernie to say all this, to admit all this. She can't help but reach out and take Bernie's hand.

“You could have talked to me about it. I would have understood.” she says carefully.

“I couldn't, I didn't know what “it” was.” said Bernie sadly, looking down at their joint hands. “How could you understand what I was telling you if I didn't even understand what it was I was feeling. I just didn't know what to say.” Bernie finished weakly. 

“I just wish I could have been there for you, even if it was just on the end of a phone.” Serena says, softly stroking little circles on the back of Bernie's hand with her thumb. Bernie smiles weakly back at her.

“I know, but I couldn't...”

“I know.” Serena replies, and she does know. She does understand how Bernie's preferred, instinctive even, response to deep emotions is not to talk about them. Understands that she would much rather retreat inside her self, keep her emotions very much in check. She knows too that there is still a part of Bernie that would rather flee than face what she feels. For Serena it's a sign of just how much Bernie loves her that she does actually talk to her about how she feels, well as much as she is able to. 

Bernie lapses into silence and Serena can almost see her gathering her thoughts and deciding what to say next.

Serena takes pity on her, and asks, “Did you manage to work out what it was that made it feel wrong?”

“I did, eventually, but I had a bit of help. About a week after you left I got an email. From Abi Tate.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Abi Tate? Ric mentioned the two of you had met briefly, and, if I recall, something about her being quite happy to see the back of you.”

“Really” says Bernie, taking her turn to be confused about the path the conversation was taking. “I didn't get that impression from her emails.”

“When you first met her, when Ric introduced you, you were wearing one of your pairs of skin tight jeans, weren't you?” asks Serena.

“Yes, I think so.” Berni replies, wondering what on earth this has to do with anything.

“Ric told me that Abi enjoyed watching you walk away, with your back to her, just a bit too much. Apparently she said something about being able to see why you'd made such an impression on AAU...” Serena raises one eyebrow and watches Bernie's face redden as she pieces together what Serena is getting at.

“Oh,” Bernie exclaims. “I didn't realise. I wasn't trying to… I wouldn't..” she tails off.

“I know,” says Serena, with a smile. If Bernie knew quite how devastatingly attractive she was, she might be dangerous. As it was, Bernie's lack of awareness of her appeal was one of her more appealing traits, or so Serena thought. “Can't say I blame her though. You are quite the sight.” As Bernie splutters, Serena asks “Assuming that wasn't why she emailed, and I very much hope for her sake it wasn't, what was it she did want?”

“She wanted to know why I left, or rather, why and how Holby had let, as she put it 'such a talented surgeon' go.” Serena snorts with indignation. The closure of the trauma unit, their trauma unit, is still very much a sore point for her. It leaves a particularly nasty taste in her mouth as it as was done whilst she was away and she will never be quite sure if, had she been there, she might have been able to save it. 

Giving Serena a chance to reclaim her equilibrium, Bernie waits a moment or two before continuing.

“Apparently I left 'quite the legacy'. She wanted to know about the Trauma Unit. She'd been looking at all the paperwork and records on file, but she wanted a personal take from somebody who'd been directly involved in it. I realised, when I was telling her about it, everything was all 'we', and 'Serena and I'. It wasn't mine, it was ours. It wasn't difficult after that, to work out what was missing in Nairobi. It was you. We built the trauma unit together, both of us. It was supposed to be that way in Nairobi, it was supposed to be for both of us, about both of us together, and it wasn't. You weren't there and without you there it wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't right. I'd been so busy I hadn't realised, not until you visited, until I had a chance to breath, that I had that horrible lonely feeling again. This time though it was worse, because I knew what I was missing. Because I knew what it was to really be with you, and all I wanted was to be with you again – where ever you were.” 

“Oh, Bernie, I'm so very sorry, I never meant to make you feel that way. I wanted to be with you. I did, I really did. It was just that...”

“Holby needed you, Jason needed you, I know. I understand, really I do. It wasn't you making me feel that way, it was the whole situation, the way things turned out. You were committed to Holby and I was committed to the Trauma Centre. And I couldn't see how to fix it, to make it so that I could be with you”

“But you found a way, I mean, if you're coming back to Holby you must have done?” Serena half states, half asks. For the first time since they started this conversation she was starting feel a small hint of optimism about where it was going.

“ I think so. It depends on, um, things. Depends on you, what you think, if you want...”

“Do you want to try that again?” asks Serena. “I'm not sure that I completely followed...”

Bernie gives her a cautious smile. She's not sure how Serena will take this next bit of news. She decides that the best approach is to rip the plaster right of, and just come out with it. 

“Abi wants to reopen the Trauma Unit. On AAU. And she wants me to lead it” she blurts out.

Serena's mind starts to whirl, throwing up conflicting emotions. It's not that she objects to re-opening the Trauma Unit. Getting the Trauma Unit up and running again is exactly what she wants, and Bernie back leading it is more than she had dared hope for. But. And it's a big but, why was she only just hearing about this? It felt like a fait accompli. She'd worked hard to restore her reputation to what it had been before she lost Elinor, before the way she had behaved, what she had become. Thought that she had achieved it, thought she had proved herself again. But obviously not. AAU was her ward and she hadn't been consulted, hadn't been asked what she thought about it. Then she sees Bernie looking at her with such hope in her eyes and the anger she had felt building up starts to recede.

“Is that something that you might want?” Bernie asks, searching Serena’s face, trying to read her reaction. “If it isn't then I wouldn't do it, you know I wouldn't do it.”

“Well, yes, of course, it is, of course. It's just that it's rather a lot to take in.” Serena replies, over brightly, not quite managing to rid her voice of the annoyance she still feels. “It's a lot to get my head round, especially as I had no idea this was on the table.”

Bernie knows Serena more that well enough to be aware that her response is less that unadulterated joy. She had known that her 'announcement' had the potential to bring back awkward memories and ruffle Serena's professional feathers. It was one of the reasons she had waited until now to broach the subject, wanting to have the luxury of time spent with Serena without intrusions or practicalities about the future first. She hopes she can manage to explain  
“I wanted, to tell you, really I did. But Abi was very clear that no one at Holby could get wind of what we were, discussing, and that included you.”

“But why?” asked Serena, not entirely mollified. “If the Trauma Unit is going to be on my ward, surely I should have been included in the discussion?” 

“Apparently Abi has been going through a lot of paperwork recently, trying to get a handle on some of the decisions that have been made previously. She didn't tell me everything, but she did explain that she had found the information used to close the Trauma Unit hadn't been entirely accurate, and that there were some 'irregularities' with the funding and ethics of the ill fated Guy Self Neuro centre. She couldn't talk to anyone currently at Holby about it because she wasn't sure who might be implicated or on the wrong side. She didn't want to damage any possible police investigation.”

“I always knew there was something shady about Guy!” Serena interrupts, the vindication she feels in the confirmation of her opinion of Guy refusing to go unheard.

“Do you see why I couldn't say anything? It's been decided to keep dealing with it as low key as possible. They don't want any more bad publicity. You'll be one of the few people who knows anything about it.”

“I can see you were in a difficult position. I understand. I'll get over it” says Serena, attempting a smile. “Especially if, as it seems, Guy Self getting what's coming to him.” she can't help but add. Her delight at what looks like Guy's comeuppance going a very long way to balancing out the perceived slight to her professional status, 

“I did think about telling you anyway. I so nearly did. Before I finally made my mind up Abi told me that she couldn't find a way to make it happen. She'd found the space for the Trauma Unit, the budget for my salary as Trauma Lead, but only a fraction of the equipment we'd need and no further staffing budget. It didn't seem worth telling you then. There was no way to find the money we'd need to get things up and running. I couldn't see the point of telling you that we'd been so close to everything we wanted, but that we couldn't have it. I was having a hard enough time processing it all myself. No need to put you through that too.”

 

Serena begins to gently stroke Bernie's hand, unwilling to interrupt her now she has found her stride, but wanting her to know that she is listening and that she understands, that she's not holding anything against her.

“I was so disappointed, I'd been so close to being back with you I could almost touch it, but it got taken away. I'm afraid it put me in a bit of a bad mood for the next couple of days. I was told I was being a bit of a nightmare. They were probably right.”

“Who told you that?” asks Serena, her indignation on her partner's behalf too strong to allow her to remain silent.

“Samuel” replies Bernie “You might remember him? The Director of the Centre. ”

“He's your boss, isn't he?” says Serena, a slight note of concern in her voice.

“Yes, well, technically. I run the medical side and he does the management and administration, but yes, my boss.”

“What did he say?” Serena asks, not entirely sure she wants to hear the answer.

“Well...” Bernie started…..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't until I started trying to write sustained dialogue between Bernie and Serena that I realised how little there is in the show to base it on! I hope that I've been able to keep enough of the character to make it believable. In my head canon Bernie and Serena are softer and more open at home. Hope that you are still enjoying reading


	6. Chapter 6

“He took me out to a local bar and fed me whiskey until I told him what was going on. He said it was clear I was unhappy, that my heart really hadn't been in it since the centre opened. He made it plain he wasn't going to drop it until I told him what was wrong. So I did. Everything. He knew about you and me, us, obviously, and he's always been OK with it. The stuff about the Trauma Unit, and how much I missed you; that was new to him. I told him in great length and in great detail. I think I may have rambled a bit.”

“And how did he react?” Serena gently pushed, needing Bernie to finish telling her the whole story.

“He brought me another whiskey.”

“Oh.” said Serena, the answer not having been what she had expected at all. “And?”

“He'd obviously been thinking whilst he'd been waiting at the bar. Seriously thinking. By the time he got back to me he'd prepared the bare bones of a proposal. With the Trauma Centre up and running the main need was for ongoing and advanced training. He couldn't see a reason why staff couldn't come to Holby and get the training they needed in the Trauma Unit. So long as I was willing to visit the Trauma Centre three or four times a year for a week or two he couldn't see why it wouldn't work. If Holby had the funding for my salary then the Trauma Centre could use the money they would save on paying me to cover the expense of flying trainees to Holby and me to Nairobi. There was even likely to be enough to make a donation towards the equipment the Trauma Unit would need.”

“That's brilliant!” exclaimed Serena “I'm really starting to warm to Samuel”. 

“He's a good man” said Bernie fondly. “But you haven't heard the best bit yet.”

“There's more?” Serena couldn't help the smile that was appearing on her face. 

“He said that he thought the Army, if they couldn't have me back, might be interested in paying for me to trauma train some of their Medics.”

“I might just have to kiss Samuel the next time I see him.” Serena said, smiling broadly.

“I'd rather you didn't” teased Bernie “He wasn't too impressed when I tried to.”

Serena laughed out loud at the image of her rather reserved partner suddenly launching herself on her rather surprised boss.   
“So, what happened then?” She asked.

“Well I apologised, obviously.”

“I should hope so, but I actually meant what happened about the proposal.”

“Oh. Well, we talked it over and we both thought it might work. We agreed that he should speak to Abi and a couple of my old Army contacts to see if they might be interested. Turns out they were.”

“So it's going ahead then?” Serena queries.

“Well, that depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you want it to. I told Samuel that if it turned out that Abi and the Army were interested it couldn't, or rather I wouldn't, go any further with the idea unless you were on board. And that I had to be the one to tell you. It's not by any means a done deal, so if it's not something you want, if you don't think it's right then it won't happen. It's all rather suddenly and I don't want you to feel that I'm putting you on the spot or trying to pressure you. If it's not what you want then I'm fine with that, I'll find another way for us to be together. Properly together.”

Bernie tails off and looks directly at Serena, who is looking back at her with an unreadable expression on her face.  
“Is it what you want?” she asks, her eyes full of hope and expectation. 

“No.” says Serena and Bernie's face just has time to fall before Serena adds “Yes! Yes! Of course I do!”

Serena can see the tension fall away from Bernie and a beaming smile fix itself on her face, which she mirrors with one of her own.

“Not really the best moment for a joke.” remarks Bernie.

“Pot, Kettle darling!” replies Serena remembering their reunion in the lobby of the hospital on Bernie's last visit.

“You're never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Not on your life! Lifelong take it to the grave grudges me!” the effect only slightly ruined by the delight beaming from her eyes. 

“You are sure though, aren't you, that this is what you want?” a flash of doubt bubbling up in Bernie. “I have sort of sprung it on you.”

“Well it, none of it, was exactly how I had been expecting the last day or so to pan out. I can't honestly say that my brain has managed to catch up with all that's happened. But I do know what I want – you and me back together properly. And you've managed to find a way to make that happen in Holby, and to get our Trauma Unit back to boot. I think all my Christmases just came at once.” Serena reaches up to stroke Bernie's cheek gently. “Thank you, my wonderful, amazing woman. How did I get lucky enough to find you?”

Bernie blushes furiously at the compliment but manages a shy grin. 

“So what happens now?” Serena asks, her excitement starting to build at the prospect of having Bernie back for good. Bernie flops back into the sofa, unaccustomed to such prolonged intense discussions. 

“I was thinking lunch?” 

“I was thinking more about the whole you coming back to Holby and rebuilding out Trauma Unit thing.” 

“We could talk about it over lunch. It'll give you a chance to get your head round things. I'm buying. Cosy little Italian?”

“Extensive wine list?”

“Of course.” 

“Tempting. But we'd be further away from our bed than I'd like.”

“The sooner we go, the sooner we get back. You're going to need to replenish your energy for what I've got planned for you later.” Bernie says, her eyes dancing over Serena, making her meaning very clear.

“Well, if you put it like that, race you to the shower.” Serena calls behind her as she launches herself of the sofa towards the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

It's not long before Bernie and Serena are seated happily in their favourite Italian restaurant, pouring over the menu hungrily. Ever since they “grabbed a bite to eat after a busy shift” there (it had most certainly not been a date they both maintained) it had been their go to place. Subsequent visits had most definitely been dates. The intimate atmosphere, secluded booths and attentive but unobtrusive service most certainly lent itself to romance. The same features also lent themselves to tricky or difficult conversations. The candlelight dark enough to mask awkwardness, whilst allowing enough light to read the subtle messages written on each others faces. 

After due consideration lunch choices were made and orders taken by the efficient and friendly waiter, who left them to peruse the wine list. It was no surprise that Serena went straight to the Shiraz selection. She pondered momentary and pronounced,  
"A bottle of Jasper Hill Occams Razor, I think."

"You could order by the glass." suggests Bernie.

"I know it's been a while since we were in a restaurant together, but surely not long enough for you to forget that I never order by the glass. " Serena retorts with a raised eyebrow.

"I remember all too well that particular habit of yours. You being very much the worse for wear does not feature in my plans for this afternoon though." The look that Bernie accompanied this statement with was one of such blatant lust that Serena only just restrained herself from glancing down to confirm that she had been undressed only by Bernie's eyes, and wasn't now, in actuality, wearing rather less than she had put on before leaving the house.

 

Serena has regained her senses sufficiently by the time the wine waiter arrives to place her order for a single glass of Occam's Razor. Drinks ordered and waiter dispatched to the cellar, Serena reaches across the table to take Bernie's hand.

"I still can't believe that you're actually here, with me." Serena says with a smile.

"You're just going to have to get used to it, because I don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon. Well, apart from back to Nairobi tomorrow." As Bernie finishes the sentence a hint of sorrow creeps into her voice.

"Not for long though." Serena notes brightly, trying to keep the conversation upbeat, in spite of knowledge of how hard it is going to be for her to say goodbye to Bernie once more. A pain that is only slightly dulled by the fact that it will be for the last time. "You only have to work out your notice. It's won't be that long."

"Not exactly." Bernie responds. "The NTC is keen to move things forward, so they've agreed that I can be seconded to Holby to do all the preparatory and liaison work. If it all goes ahead as planned then I'll be transferred permanently to Holby. No notice period needed."

"So you're going back to Nairobi for how long?" asks Serena, once again on the back foot. 

"I need to wrap a few things up at the NTC, make sure everything is handed over properly. Then I've got to pack up my stuff. Depends on how it all goes, but three or four weeks seems about right."

"That soon?" exclaims Serena?

"Yes, if that's ok with you. If it's a problem...." Bernie's voice tails off as she sees Serena's excited face.

"The absolute opposite!" she says beaming. "Just yesterday I didn't know when I was going to see you again - now I find out that you're going to be back for good in less than a month. I really couldn't be more OK, although I may have to ask you to pinch me, just to prove that it's all a dream brought on by too many sleepless nights with Guinevere."

Bernie looks like she's about to start laughing, Serena puts on an affected hurt face.  
"I'll have you know that Guinevere's sleeping patterns, or lack of them, is no laughing matter. You'll find out for your self soon enough. You'll be sharing them with me once you're back!"

"Can't think of anything I'd like better." beams Bernie.

 

Their conversation is interrupted by the arrival of two glasses of wine and two steaming hot plates of pasta. Thee smell coming from them is heavenly, and they both tuck in with gusto. A companionable, contented silence reigns between them as they both make significant dents in the generous portions of food. It's Serena who admits defeat first, saying,

"It's delicious, it really is, but there's so much of it. I don't know who could manage to eat that many carbs in one sitting."

"Somebody who's planning to use a lot of energy later?" suggests Bernie, looking from the much emptier dish in front of her, and then meaningfully at Serena.

"You've got a one track mind!" exclaims Serena.

"Until tomorrow I have. Can you blame me? Have you seen you?"

Serena blushes. For all her flirting prowess she's still not used to this. She's used to flirting as a kind of power game, but that's not how Bernie's playing it. Bernie isn't playing at all. It's done with a veneer of lightheartedness, but Serena can hear, can see, that she means what she says. She can tell that Bernie is revelling in finally being able, allowed, to say these kind of things safe in the knowledge that she's loved and the feeling is reciprocated. Serena is not however used to being on the receiving end of such heartfelt compliments and blatant desire. Oh, she can give them out, but receiving them is not something she's familiar with. She thinks she could get used to it though, if they came from Bernie. She hurriedly takes a gulp of her wine and turns the conversation to safer territory.

"So, it's possible that you might be home for my birthday?" she asks hopefully.

"It really depends on how things go back at the NTC. It would be pretty tight, and I wouldn't hold my breath. I'll do everything I can to make it back in time though."

"It would be one hell of a birthday present, even if it does arrive a little late." 

"If it's late, I'll make it up to you." says Bernie with a grin. Serena rolls her eyes and asks

"What's the plan when you get back to Holby - work wise I mean" she adds as she sees Bernie's eyebrow fly up.

"Abi wants the finalised proposal to go to the Board Meeting at the end of October. It'll need to be kept under wraps as long as possible, so I'll be working on putting it together from home. As soon as it gets past the Board I'll be back on AAU. The plan is to get as much prepared in advance as possible so that when we get the OK we can be up and running almost immediately. Abi thought, and I agree, that anyone who objects would have a much harder time shutting down an up and running Trauma Unit than putting one in the planning stages on hold."

"I'd like to see them try!" Serena almost explodes. "Nobody is pulling that stunt again!" she adds with fire in her voice.

"I don't think I'd mind seeing you in full flow." Bernie muses aloud, "As long as it wasn't directed at me, of course. I'm told it's quite the sight!"

"I've been known to have my moments." Serena admits, and takes a large sip of her wine. "Is there much preparation work to do? I'm assuming that a lot of the groundwork was done when we first set the Trauma Bay up, and it wouldn't be difficult to adapt it to the new situation."

"I'm counting on that. We did a great job setting it up, and you know what they say - if it ain't broke, don't fix it." Bernie grins. "The bit that's going to take the time is liasing with the NTC, the Army and the Hospital; working out the finances, lines of accountability, budgets, all the paperwork, and trying to find additional funding streams. In short all the kind of stuff I hate."

"Then it's a good job that that 'stuff' as you put it is exactly what I excel at. If you'd like some help?"

Bernie smiles broadly.  
"I was hoping that you'd say that." she beams, her voice full of relief.

"You know I'd do almost anything for you."

Bernie raises an eyebrow  
"Noted."

"Easy tiger." Serena says with a smile. 

"Spoil sport!" retorts Bernie. "More seriously there's a lot to do, and I'd really value you insight". Bernie reaches across the table, takes Serena's hand and strokes it gently. "I want this Trauma Unit to be ours, something we build together, not just mine."

"I'd like that. I'd like that very much." says Serena, so focused on the happiness radiating from her partner that she fails to register the waiter skillfully remove the plates of forgotten, rapidly congealing pasta from in front of them, or the benevolent expression on his face as he does so.

"There's rather a lot to do in quite a short space of time." muses Bernie. "I suppose I should start thinking about where I'm going to live. I've not got long to find somewhere."

"I would have thought there was a perfectly obvious solution to that." says Serena, as she toys with the last of the wine in her glass.

"Is there?" asks Bernie. "As I sold my house the last time I was in the UK, I can't see..." She tails off as she starts to suspect what Serena is getting at.

"Move in with me." Serena says earnestly. "Live with me. Come home darling."

"Are you sure? Sure this is what you want?" asks Bernie with concern. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

"Never wanted anything more in my life. Unless you don't want to?"

"Yes, absolutely. I absolutely want to. So very much." Bernie manages through the widest, softest grin that Serena has ever seen. She's pretty sure that her grin matches it. 

"So," says Serena, in an attempt to lighten the intense atmosphere. "Do you fancy desert?"

"Very much." Bernie says before getting to her feet and reaching for her coat.

"Where are you going?" asks Serena, confused.

"To pay the bill." answers Bernie, as if it should have been obvious.

"But I thought.." manages Serena before Bernie leans over to whisper in her ear on her way past to the Servers station to pay

"The only desert I want is you - and you're a desert much better savoured in the privacy of our own home."

Serena gulps, drinks back the last of her wine, gathers her coat and bag and follows after Bernie.


End file.
